She was lying on the hard concrete of the basement. Not a sound, not a breath, no living sign of life was coming out of her. Blood trickling calmly from her nose. I waited, I know it'll be time. Soon. Suddenly, a shiver ran through her, her body undulating from the violence.

I gasped, my nerves were fooling around with my body. The thing was trying to take control of her. It started with the fingers, the beast had a certain penchant for the fingers. Long, flexible, claw-like. They are the ugliest and most inhuman part our body, yet we could not be fully human without them. Her fingers strummed the air, violently shaking, like playing a death march on a piano burning from the ashes of hell. I breathed in and out, trying to control the trembling of my hands. I hated to see her in that state, I felt like she would fall apart and dismember at any moment, shaking and twisting in ways the human body doesn't naturally adopt. I was a spectator to an invisible inside torture, her figure dissolved, taking the mask of pure pain and suffering. There is nothing I could do but watch, I bit my lips and refrained the instinct to help her. Moments later, she was completely possessed: fighting against herself, struggling to keep control of her own body but It was too strong. Once It had won over a part of her, It would creep over to the next, slowly and violently. Unbearably slow suspense. Still, I waited.

I could not close my eyes, afraid to miss the few seconds I would have between the moment where It controls her body but inside, her soul would still be fighting. I never figured out what exactly happened inside, I just had to keep my mind tuned on my instinct. Instinct always guided me well in this situation. It told me when the moment was right to take action.

Her eyes were rolling in their orbit. Disgusted, I approached the gun to her face, just between her eyes, waiting for the perfect moment. The horror of seeing those beady things roll underneath her eyelids, I gulped. My hands are no longer trembling, they are tense with anxiety.

She opened her eyes. I shot her.

So easily. The noise filled my brain, blood soiled my face, ran down my arms, splattered my clothes. The worst was the distinct crack of the skull as the bullet entered the brain. I turned away from her, seeing her blood covering me made me spill whatever was left inside my stomach. I did not want to kill her, but killing her is the only way that would maybe let her live a little longer. There were things inside her. I do not know how many, but every time one of the things tries to take control of her I had to kill It before she became possessed. And kill her with It. Until she and It came back to life again, and it started over only a few months later.

I have killed my best friend, lover and soul-mate five times. I do not know how many more times I'll have to kill her, how come I managed to listen to her cry the first time it happened where she begged me to kill her at the moment she opened her eyes. I do not know if it'll stop. I think by helping her survive, I have drawn my own life on the path of doom. I do not belong with other people anymore. Those who proclaim with a sarcastic smile that supernatural is only an invention. That those who believe in it are weak and must submit to the science of the strong. That mathematics solves every problem. Where are mathematics in my situation? Mathematics are the ones who would turn towards me saying: people can not be possessed, one can not come back living from the dead. However, you have killed a living being, you must be crazy. You must be stopped. And she would die, at least her soul would and she would no longer be she but the Thing. Maybe I am crazy. I also know that because I'm crazy, Cinda has lived longer than expected.

The light quivered. Now, fate would decide if she would live or if she stayed in that awful state of premature death. I crept towards a corner and rolled myself in a ball, closing my eyes. The light went off. A shrill scream came out from the dark, It come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It filled the space of the basement, the floor, the walls, my bones and my head were all howling at the same time, in a dissonant unity that tore my eardrums and sent uncontrollable shivers through my body. Something whispered in my head: "Nathan... Why do you kill me?... Nathan..." The voice twirled around me, like a breath of death trying to find a way to enter my body. My mouth and my eyes were shut, the voice was attacking my ears, I felt as if every single one of my cells were trying to break lose, to flee from that hideous voice. Completely paralyzed, I was a block of ice, veined with fear. Fear to open my eyes again even when the voice stopped blowing and raging at me.

Finally, I dared to look: darkness still filled the room. Thick and immobile, the air was heavy and the absence of movement made the night only more oppressive.

Suddenly, I felt a shift in the air, swiftly a strand of hair brushed my face, it smelled of burnt flesh and rotten corpses. I yelled as two burning red eyes stared at mine and a bony hand grabbed my neck. I gaped for air... "I will not let you and her soul win this time... the body is mine..." Tighter and tighter. My vision started to blur, everything went black. "Why do I always lose... Nathan... Nathan... Nathan!"

My eyes opened again, Cinda was shaking my shoulder, the lights were on, the blood had disappeared from my hands and clothes. It had tried to make me fear, make me want to die but we had won, Cinda was alive once more. For the time being.

"You must've fallen asleep, do you want to watch a horror movie with me?" She asked innocently.

I smiled and nodded. As usual, she did not remember what I had done for her. She never knew who saved her from possession. I did not mind, I would care for her until the next time I would kill her. Until it's all over.